Apple Effects
by Rhysch
Summary: Set after the S5 Finale. Castiel is an archangel. Dean is living with Lisa and is greeted by a mysterious stranger, who claims he was sent to kill Dean.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: So this is just a story for my own pleasure. I'm just starting college so things are hectic. I'll write and update when I have time for fun. But to be clear, this isn't going to be my best work. I'm just going to write. No editing, re-reading, or any of that.**

**The story takes place after the Season 5 finale, so I'm sure there'll be some sort of time gap—of how long, I didn't specify so go ahead and take that initiative yourself. Dean's living with Lisa and, well, I've taken it upon myself to introduce a new angel character which you will see shortly.**

**There are bound to be problems with the way I depicted him falling, etc, but whatever. This is just for fun.**

**Also as a disclaimer I only wish I owned Dean Winchester.**

"No."

The simplicity of the word struck him almost instantaneously. As soon as the sound left his lips, he was falling, a white-hot meteor from the sky. His entire being was hurling down, straight as a pin until he hit the atmosphere. Then he was twirling, spinning, rolling through the thick air at an inconceivable velocity. He felt his form twist violently, and struggled to maintain control of it. Thrusting his shoulder blades outward, he wrapped his newly scorched wings around his vessel in attempt to shield it from the coming impact with the ground.

The ground quaked and curved around him as his body—he had a body now—crushed into it, leaving a roughly round dent where green grass and wild flowers had been only moments ago. He felt something. It was…pain. He opened his watering eyes and looked down to his chest, which was both heaving and quivering. Tilting his head back, he lifted his icy blue irises skyward, a bloody grin slowly spreading across his face.

"I win."

• • •

"Goodnight, sweetheart."

"'Night, Daddy," Sarah said, arms reaching up and grabbing her father's face. The man smiled fondly and leant down to kiss her forehead. Sarah grinned, gaps present where her two front teeth should've been.

Sarah watched him as he turned to leave, curling her toes under her sheets in anticipation for the sudden darkness that would replace the light in her room. Her father reached for the switch and heard a gasp from Sarah's bed.

"Sarah, I thought we talked about—"

Sarah's body sat up abruptly, stiff and eerily motionless. Her golden eyes were blank, staring at the wall in front of her. Her father flinched as she let out a long, piercing screech.

He ran to her bedside and shook her shoulders. "Sarah!" he called, but she remained unresponsive, mouth still agape.

He shook her firmly and lowered his face to hers. "Sarah," he whispered desperately.

Sarah blinked once and turned her eyes to meet his.

"He has fallen."

• • •

"You need sleep," Lisa said, taking Dean's face in her hands and rubbing his cheeks softly where the purple lined under his eyes. She smiled sadly and watched him closely, looking for any sign of hidden emotion in those green eyes.

"I've slept plenty," Dean said, not meeting her eyes. He pulled away from her touch, withdrawing. "What I need is a job." _Anything to get my mind off him_, he thought.

"No," Lisa pressed stubbornly, letting out a gentle but exasperated sigh. "You need rest. You need to just…stop for a moment." She turned his chin and looked into his eyes. "We both know why you're here," she said quietly. "You want a normal life. But that's not going to happen right away. So let's make the best with what we have," she said encouragingly.

Dean tried to smile. "Yeah," he said, nodding along. "Yeah, you're right."

• • •

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He was standing outside of the store, and then he wasn't. In the blink of an eye, he was inside the store, no evidence of having broken in. Using his powers probably wasn't the smartest decision, considering the poor shape he was in from the fall, but he couldn't risk being caught by human authorities. Ignoring the pain he was feeling, he glanced around the dark room for any signs of life. Nothing.

Letting out a sigh, he nodded and continued his task. This was a delicate task, requiring immense precision. So many choices, and where to begin? He picked up the first shirt he found. It was a nice black collared shirt. He pulled it on, ignoring the stinging sensation he felt against his skin. Scanning the room again, he moved toward some pants and pulled on the first pair he found. They were far too short, coming only to his ankles. This vessel was exceptionally tall and slender. He pulled them off and pulled another pair on. These seemed to fit fine. He looked to the side and found a mirror, taking a breath before looking in.

Not bad. His vessel was as he thought—tall and thin, but very fit and muscular. Aside from the fact that he looked as if he'd been beaten up, blood covering his face and body, he appeared to be in good physical shape. A mess of jet-black hair covered his scalp. His nose was straight and Roman-esque. And his eyes—they were a frightening shade of ice-blue, enough to make him shiver upon sight.

His outfit now consisted of a black shirt and black pants. Something was missing. Shoes. He looked at the shoe rack and pulled down a pair of boots, sliding them on easily. Next to the shoe rack hung a black leather jacket, which he pulled on. Can't go wrong with leather. He looked back in the mirror. Something was still missing. He looked around until he spotted what he wanted—a bright, blood-red tie. He tied it around his neck as a grin settled on his face.

Now he was ready.


	2. Chapter 2

"I've got a surprise for you," Lisa smiled as she walked toward Dean, who was sitting on a chair, eyes trained on the wall, lost in thought. His gaze flickered up to meet hers, and she could see the exhaustion he tried so hard to hide.

She took a few steps bravely toward him and gently took his hand. He stood up slowly, attempting another smile. "You'll like this one," she said, tugging his hand playfully and walking toward the garage. His gait was slow and steady, but willing.

She opened the door and let him pass through. "I thought you could use a project," she said. "To get your mind off things." She waited for a reaction—anything. She couldn't stand to see him in any more pain.

He strolled around the old car and looked back at her, giving her some small semblance of excitement. She could almost see the twinkle in his lifeless eyes again. "Lisa," he said slowly, "I, uh, don't know what to say." He looked at the car again, then back at her. It would take a lot of work to get the old thing up and running but he wasn't complaining. It was exactly what he needed. Rubbing his neck, he sighed and relaxed into a grin. "Thanks."

• • •

"Azrael," Castiel spoke clearly, low voice ringing throughout the heavens. In less than a second, the called angel appeared before him.

"Castiel," Azrael responded, giving a slight bow. "Still wearing the same meat, I see."

Castiel did not break his gaze with the angel, but merely nodded. "The vessel remains adequate," he answered simply. The wind blew stronger and lifted the bottom of Castiel's trenchcoat. "Sarah Mills. Greensfork, Indiana. She speaks of us."

Azrael nodded curtly, a bit of resentment present in his eyes. He was obviously not fond of the errands he had been forced to run as of late. "Of course," he responded. He turned to go, but hesitated, one foot remaining in its place.

"And what of the Winchesters?" Azrael asked quietly, voice nearly a whisper.

Castiel paused, blue eyes distant. He hadn't forgotten them—he couldn't. They were a part of his life now. No—they were a part of his past. He couldn't bother them any longer. There was no need, as of yet. The angels could find an alternative plan of salvaging the remainder of the Earth. The Winchesters were not needed.

"They are to be left alone," Castiel said firmly, returning his gaze to Azrael's back. With a flap of wings, Azrael was gone, and the archangel was alone yet again.

• • •

Dean set the wrench aside and scooted himself out from under the old car. He picked up a rag and wiped his dirty hands on it, then threw it aside as he reached for his beer. The car managed to keep his mind off things, but only temporarily. As soon as he resurfaced from working on it, his thoughts of his past life resurfaced. His thoughts of angels and demons and…Sam.

He closed his eyes and willed the thoughts away. _This is what Sam wanted,_ he told himself. But he didn't know if he could believe it. Even more, he couldn't believe that he didn't go looking for his little brother. It went against everything he believed in.

He had to admit he was torn. After all, his whole life had been dedicated to protecting Sam, keeping Sam's best interests at heart. But now what was Sam's best interest? He told himself it was this—living his "apple pie" life like Sam wanted. But his gut told him differently.

Then again, even if he did go looking for Sam, where would he start? No one knew anything. There were no ancient books or old friends to consult. No help from any angels. The only angel he'd ever managed to befriend had left him when the fight ended.

Closing his eyes, Dean remembered one of the first nights he'd stayed with Lisa. He got up in the middle of the night and drove away without so much as a word. He drove to an empty parking lot and stood outside in the frigid air and flickering streetlights, belting out his angel's name for hours until his voice went hoarse. No response. Castiel had abandoned him, just like everyone else.

_Ding-dong._

The ring of the doorbell jolted Dean out of his reverie. He set his beer aside and picked up his shotgun, which was loaded with salt. As he entered the house and crossed to the door, Lisa pulled the shotgun from under his arm, giving him a disapproving look.

"We don't want any more mix-ups," she said gently.

Dean hesitated and nodded, letting her take it and place it near, but out of sight. The last mailman that had rung the doorbell had had the unfortunate luck to meet Dean, who was still very weary of any unexpected visitors.

With one hand on the container of holy water in his jacket, Dean opened the door, gazing at the visitor's feet first. He'd drawn a devil's trap underneath the doormat. The visitor wasn't a demon, at least.

"Dean Winchester," a man's deep voice said. The gruffness of the voice reminded him of Castiel. Looking up to meet the stranger's face, Dean took a step back at the uncanny resemblance. The man was taller than Castiel, and perhaps a bit less boyish, but still had a mess of dark hair and shockingly blue eyes.

"Who wants to know?" Dean asked, eyes suspicious.

"My name is Ramiel," the stranger said, taking a step toward Dean. Dean stepped back in response, reaching for his shotgun, which was leaning against the doorway. He knew it wouldn't do any good against an angel, which is what Ramiel appeared to be, but Dean preferred to be armed with something.

"Look Ramiel," Dean said, a darker edge to his voice. "If you know me from…before…I'm not that person anymore." He peered around Ramiel to see if any nosy neighbors, or _friends_ of Ramiel, were spying on their conversation. Seeing nothing, he returned his gaze to Ramiel. "So I suggest you leave."

Ramiel stared at Dean, his icy blue eyes almost unbearable to look at for too long. The corners of his mouth turned up into a…smirk? Dean furrowed his eyebrows, keeping his eyes on Ramiel as his hand curled around the shotgun. He hadn't seen an angel smirk so naturally since, well, Gabriel. Or Zachariah. That was, if Ramiel was even an angel. Dean couldn't afford to assume these facts.

"You didn't let me finish," Ramiel said, looking at Dean condescendingly. "My name is Ramiel, and I was ordered to kill you."


	3. Chapter 3

Dean's shotgun was pointing directly at Ramiel's broad chest. He wasn't going to let the angels take over his life—not again. He'd lived through it before, hell, he'd even gotten attached to one of the stoic bastards. But he wasn't going to make that mistake again—not now, when he'd just taken back control over his own life. He stared murderously at Ramiel, green eyes penetrating the angel's ice blue ones. "Leave now."

Ramiel looked at Dean, and Dean was reminded of another time. Another life. His mind filled with memories of the angel that had once saved him. Dean fondly recalled the perplexed look that had taken a nearly permanent residence on his angel's face. Shaking his head slightly, Dean wished them away. All that those memories brought him was the sting of abandonment, the pain of betrayal. In the end, he was always the last one standing. Alone.

Ramiel, on the other hand, had a slightly amused look on his face, settled primarily on his lips—the corners curved slyly upwards at Dean's menacing order. Dean blinked, and the angel was gone. Immediately, relief washed over him. He scanned the yard quickly before slamming the front door shut and bolting the locks.

A sound from behind him startled him, and he spun around on his heels, only to find Ramiel standing in his living room, gripping his side and panting. Dean held his shotgun steady, aiming it at the angel once again, though he knew it would do no good if its use was required. Ramiel swayed dangerously and spluttered out a stream of blood, eyes unfocused.

"Whoa, hey there," Dean said, rushing forward out of reflex and gripping Ramiel's shoulders as the angel sank to his knees. The shotgun fell to the wood floor with a clatter.

Ramiel squeezed his eyes shut, agony crossing his features before he opened them once again. Dean took a step back, letting go of his shoulders as if realizing he was helping a sworn enemy. Ramiel managed to regain his balance and awkwardly pulled himself back onto his feet, gripping the couch with white knuckles and staring at Dean determinedly.

"Losing your mojo?" Dean asked roughly, trying to sound more condescending than concerned.

Ramiel gave him a strange look, which Dean interpreted as, "Oh please, spare me." Silence filled the small room for a few moments longer before the angel finally spoke. "Because of you, _yes_," he rasped indignantly, face pale in the dim light.

"Me?" Dean said, raising his eyebrows and feeling some of his suppressed anger bubble to the surface. "You come to my house and blame me for your Daddy issues?" The sarcasm in his voice turned toxic. "Get out," he said, tone darkening as he picked up the shotgun and aimed it at Ramiel once again.

"You know that won't do any good against an angel," Ramiel choked out, wiping the blood from his mouth with the back of his hand. His eyes glanced from the shotgun to Dean and back again.

Dean nodded, suspicions now confirmed. So he was dealing with an angel—and not a very good one at that. "Well sorry to dent your halo, but from the looks of it you're not an angel anymore, buddy," Dean said confidently, eyes trained on Ramiel.

Ramiel lowered his gaze. "Alright you got me," he said, lowering himself down onto the couch before his legs gave out. "This is just residue—leftovers, if you will. I don't have any real power left." He coughed again, wincing painfully.

"Guess they don't give two weeks' notice in the Sky League, do they?" Dean said, tone still mildly threatening. He lowered his shotgun slowly, but gripped it tight against his leg as a precaution. "What do you want?"

Ramiel heaved a sigh, which came out as a wheeze. "I came to warn you." His shoulders slumped and he looked much less menacing now, face and neck stained with blood.

"Warn me?" Dean asked, pacing now as he quirked a brow.

"Yes," the angel replied tensely, sounding much like someone else Dean once knew. "Just because I defied my orders doesn't mean they won't replace me with an angel that won't. If I was sent for you, someone else will be too." He inhaled, running a hand through his silky hair. "You have to leave."

Dean was silent for a long moment. Why wouldn't the bastards just leave him alone? He was stupid. He thought he could have a normal life, for once, even if it meant he couldn't look for Sam. But for Dean Winchester, there was no such thing. He couldn't lead a normal life. It wasn't possible. He'd been fighting for so long to live that apple pie life that he'd lost track of the truth—it was a life he could never have.

"No," Dean said solemnly, shifting his gaze back to Ramiel.

Ramiel furrowed his eyebrows. "What?"

"I'm not leaving." Dean's low voice echoed emptily around the house.

Ramiel stared at him, a mixture of incredulity, anger, and confusion in his pale blue eyes. "I don't understand…."

"Where'm I gonna go?" Dean asked, voice rising. "What am I s'posed to do? This is my life now. Here. With Lisa and Ben. I don't have anyone else. If I leave them…there's no reason for me to live. Dad's gone, Sam…." His voice broke momentarily, and he swallowed, allowing a moment to pass before continuing. "If I'm not here, I don't want to live anyway."

Ramiel stared at him, eyes wide. "You don't know…."

"I don't know what?" Dean asked dully. He wasn't curious anymore. He didn't care what Ramiel had to tell him. He didn't give a damn what the angels wanted or thought or knew. He just wanted to be left alone—he wanted out of this hellish life.

Ramiel broke into a wry grin—not quite sincere, but more so than before. And in one breath, he spoke the five words that would change Dean's life.

"Your brother is alive, Dean."


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Thanks for the reviews, guys. I hope you're enjoying reading it as much as I am writing it.**

Dean was speechless.

There had only been a few times in which he had lost the ability to speak. Once when a blonde walked up to him, slapped him, then proceeded to lift her shirt and show him her breasts. Once when Sam was young and had expressed interest in trying ballet (which, after the long stretch of silence, was followed by an uproar of endless laughter). But now, standing there in Lisa's living room, his speech was stuck in his throat, even as he gazed upon the fallen angel before him.

He didn't know what to feel. Should he feel angry because if Sam was alive he hadn't yet made any sort of contact? Joy because his brother was alive and that was all that mattered? Fear because there had to be some sort of catch? These things didn't just happen. Dean took a deep breath and blinked. He had to make sure he'd heard the angel right. Of course Ramiel could have lied about it, but what did he gain from that?

"Excuse me?" Dean finally asked roughly, taking a small step toward Ramiel, who was struggling to sit up on the couch.

"You heard me," he said firmly, gazing up at Dean. "Sam's alive. But that's not important right now. You need to get out of here."

Dean shook his head incredulously. "No," he said, more to himself than to the angel. "No, I have to go find him." His head snapped back to Ramiel. "Where is he? I swear, if you dicks laid one finger on him, so help me, I will—."

"I don't know where he is, Dean," Ramiel said harshly, a twinge of pink flushing his rather pale face. "But I know who does. We have to go to him."

"Go to who?" Dean asked skeptically. He didn't want to go through this again. Last time he searched for someone who knew someone who knew someone…it didn't work out so well. He remembered Castiel's quest for God. He remembered Joshua. He remembered the bitter disappointment of failing to find someone who did not want to be found.

"My brother knows where Sam is. And he can protect us," Ramiel said, gripping his side and pushing himself up to a standing position.

Dean considered. "Ok. Which brother are we talking about?" Among the angels he'd met quite a few, and to be frank, he didn't want to run into any of them again.

"You know him," Ramiel said. He stumbled forward and gripped Dean's shoulder for support. "I think I can get us there. Got enough juice for another trip or two," he said gruffly, trying to sound confident though Dean could hear the uncertainty in his voice. "Anyway, it's the only way we'll get to him. We can't take your…preferred means of transportation." His crystal eyes glanced toward the direction of the garage, and Dean wondered how much Ramiel actually knew about him.

"_Which brother?_" Dean insisted, just as Ramiel lifted his hand to put on Dean's forehead.

Ramiel paused, his fingers an inch away from their destination. He shook his head and smiled, that same wry smile which seemed to consist of part sincerity, part mockery. Dean opened his mouth to question again, but before he could say anything he was being jerked through space, Ramiel's fingers having touched his forehead.

• • •

Sam swallowed another shot and slammed the glass on the table, throat stinging. The bartender glanced at him warningly, then returned to his task of drying a glass with an old rag.

The bar was nearly empty, as it was very late—or very early, depending on how you looked at it. The only other people consisted of a few men huddled in a dark corner, sharing their fifth pitcher of beer, an old man at the other end of the bar, and two drunk girls who seemed to offer their "services" to anyone who entered the bar. The men were staring at Sam, who was unsuccessfully attempting to ignore them.

Sam unfolded his newspaper again. He'd gone over it dozens of times already, but for some reason he hoped the text would change the next time he opened it. No jobs. No jobs meant no money, and no money meant no drinking. And no motels. But the drinking was what he was more concerned with at the given moment.

That, and he needed to busy himself. He couldn't stand the hours he spent alone—wherein lied his core problem: sleep. He didn't want to sleep. The nightmares were enough for him to force down several red bull in resistance.

Sure, remembering hell sucked. It sucked a whole lot. But then again, when comparing to Dean's supposed experience, Sam thought he had it pretty good. He'd been locked in a cage, taunted by all, possessed by Lucifer…. But that was just it. Hell wasn't the worst part. It was Lucifer. Having his mind controlled for what had seemed like eternity had changed him.

Sam shook his head. He had to stop thinking about it. He was on Earth now, and that was all that mattered. His hand twitched near his pocket, feeling the cell phone beneath the fabric. Again, he repressed his urge to call Dean. He made a promise. He couldn't call Dean. Dean was with Lisa and Ben.

He was better off without Sam.

At least that's what Sam kept telling himself. Still, it was hard knowing his brother was merely a phone call away. The self-control it took not to call Dean was astonishing. Sam ran an agitated hand through his hair and stood up. The whispers coming from the men in the corner stopped abruptly. Sam slammed down some cash and walked out of the bar, knowing quite well that the men would follow him. It happened more often than not.

"Hey pretty boy," he heard one of them call as he walked out of the front door.

_Just leave it,_ he told himself. He balled his hands into fists and shoved them in his jacket pockets, resolved not to do anything drastic. Only a few more paces to his motorcycle.

"I'm talkin' to you, boy," the man said, voice louder.

_Ignore them._ Sam gritted his teeth and straddled his motorcycle.

"You're Sam Winchester, right?"

"Who wants to know?" Sam stood back up, drawing to full height. He peered at the man in the dark. Just another drunk hunter, he presumed. His hand settled on top of his knife in his pocket—insurance.

The man grinned maliciously, eyes shining in the dim glow of the streetlights.

"We've been looking for you."


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Ok so I don't know how coherent this chapter is because I'm really tired and yeah…. I hope it makes sense. But if it doesn't, oh well. Like I said, this is for my entertainment. But I'm glad you guys are apparently also enjoying it!**

Dean opened his eyes dizzily, feeling like he'd just been thrown out of a high-speed train. He looked around as his eyes adjusted to the bright light. Ramiel had transported them to an empty park, complete with benches, landscaping, and a small pond. Everything seemed so serene.

Breaking the silence, Dean heard a choked gasp from beside him. He turned his head and saw Ramiel, appearing and abruptly falling to the ground, blood running down his face from his nose and mouth. Dean kneeled by him and tentatively put a hand on the former angel's shoulder, shaking it somewhat gently. "Hey, you alright there Maverick?" he asked.

Ramiel didn't respond. Dean pressed his fingers to the angel's neck, feeling a weak but present pulse. Furrowing his eyebrows, he looked around, as if expecting help to come at any moment. What the hell was he supposed to do now? He didn't even know where he was.

"Dean?"

He knew that voice. That low, gravelly yet concerned voice. Green eyes flickered up to meet brilliant blue. "Castiel," Dean breathed, feeling a rush of emotions course through him.

He didn't know what to say. He was angry. Angry that the fucking douche bag had left him—abandoned him—after all they'd been through. Especially since the bastard knew about Dean's past and his previous experiences with abandonment.

He was hurt because, well, who wouldn't be? Dean hadn't realized how close he'd let himself get to the guy. He had opened up on numerous occasions, and sometimes he thought that the angel understood him better than anyone else.

And then there was another feeling. A mixture of feelings, really. Joy, relief, and a sense that everything was just _right_ when Castiel was by his side.

"What are you doing here?" Castiel asked, breaking into Dean's thoughts and scattering them.

Dean was ripped from his reverie and re-introduced to the anger he'd pent up for so long. Narrowing his eyes, he watched Castiel. "I don't know," he said coldly. "Why don't you ask him?"

Castiel traced Dean's gaze until his own eyes rested upon the fallen angel, a crumpled mess on the ground. Dean watched Castiel's expression for any give-aways. Any emotion.

To anyone else, Castiel may have seemed emotionless. But Dean could tell. He could see the twitch of Castiel's brow and the small frown that now marred his face. But mainly it was in his eyes. In his eyes rested the intense concern and worry that Dean knew all but too well.

"Ramiel?" Castiel whispered, immediately dropping to his knees and examining the other man. Dean's eyes widened slightly. He'd never seen Castiel react so strongly to someone.

Castiel touched Ramiel's forehead and the latter grunted, opening his eyes slowly. Upon seeing Castiel, his mouth spread into a wide, bloody grin. "Castiel," he choked out, propping himself up on his elbows. "Long time, no see."

"What happened to you?" Castiel asked, standing and pulling Ramiel up with him. Dean helped out of instinct, and soon Ramiel was back on his feet—with both Castiel and Dean supporting him, of course.

"I fell," Ramiel finally answered breathlessly, wincing ever so slightly as he spoke.

Castiel's eyes widened minutely, and his boyish confusion was clear by the features on his face.

"What the hell is going on?" Dean interrupted, looking from one angel to the other. His eyes focused on Ramiel. "Who are you? And why did you take me here?"

"Hey, you said you wanted to find your brother," Ramiel said, a lazy grin spread across his face. "So I took you to the source of it all." He slapped Castiel on the back, managing to keep his balance. Blinking slowly, he furrowed his eyebrows. His eyes roamed over Castiel. "Still with the trenchcoat?" His grin quickly turned into the familiar smirk Dean was most accustomed to seeing on his face.

Dean's anger was rising in the back of his throat now. He didn't want this—any of this. He had wanted to go on living in ignorance with Lisa and Ben. But now that he knew his brother was alive and Castiel still, well, _existed_, he had no choice but to do something about it. He turned his hard gaze to Castiel, who seemed to be avoiding any eye contact whatsoever. "The hell is he talking about?"

Castiel remained silent—something that annoyed Dean more than anything at the given moment. Without so much as saying a word, he proceeded to drag Ramiel to the nearest park bench. Dean irritably followed suit and helped Castiel lower the man onto the bench.

"Now are you gonna give me some answers, or what?" Dean said, clearly annoyed now. He had had enough of being jerked around. His entire life had been devoted to the doings of others, and now, just when he'd started to focus on himself, he'd been ripped away from it without explanation. He thought he at least deserved some answers.

"Yeah, yeah," Ramiel said dully, rubbing his forehead. "I'm fine by the way, thanks." His icy gaze held Dean's for a moment before he looked away. "Castiel is my brother."

"I figured that much out for myself," Dean said, folding his arms and watching Ramiel. He could feel Castiel's presence beside him but he refused to let himself so much as look at the angel.

Ramiel sighed. "Will you ever shut your mouth long enough to let me finish a goddamn _sentence_?" he asked. Suddenly distracted, he smiled to himself. "Ah, cursing. The perks of being a human." He looked back to Dean and raised his eyebrows, continuing. "When we're relatively young, new angels, we're assigned to older angels. The older ones show us how to act, how to perform our duties, all that fun stuff." Ramiel grinned and glanced at Castiel before continuing. "In human terms, I'm Castiel's older brother," he explained, nodding.

Dean raised his eyebrows and blew out a breath. He resisted the impulse to tease Castiel about having a big brother. Instead, he continued to stare at Ramiel, barely acknowledging Castiel's presence. Castiel seemed to do the same. The tension between them was heavy.

"Where's Sam?" He peered around quickly, incase Sam had somehow magically appeared without his notice. "And what does any of this have to do with me?" Dean asked, growing weary of hearing irrelevant explanations.

Ramiel shrugged. "Hey, you asked." He grinned again and winked at Dean. Dean's eyebrows knitted together in response. He hadn't met any other angels quite like Ramiel. Then again, Ramiel was no longer an angel.

Ramiel's eyes roamed over Castiel's features. "Copy cat," he breathed, taking note of Castiel's hair and eye color. Castiel's expression remained tight and emotionless, and Dean was only able to see the smallest trace of concern left on his features.

A long moment of silence overcame the three of them, and Dean shifted uncomfortably. He was tired of demanding answers, but he hated being kept in the dark. Finally, Ramiel spoke. Dean listened to his voice, which was strangely different from Castiel's. It was more animated, low but somehow smooth and comical at the same time.

"Well, are you going to tell him or should I?" Ramiel asked casually, looking at Castiel, who had suddenly found interest in a seam of his trenchcoat.

"Tell me what?" Dean asked after a moment of silence on Castiel's behalf.

Ramiel sighed loudly. "He's an archangel now—isn't that right, little bro?" The corners of Ramiel's lips twitched upward. "He can find Sam for us."

"Sam Winchester?" Castiel spoke up, the same look of blank confusion on his face. His head tilted to the side a bit.

"Well you haven't changed much," Dean commented snidely, turning to face Castiel. The angel regarded him for a moment, blue eyes apologetic, but remained silent. Dean also remained silent, but his gaze turned into a steady glare.

"Sorry to interrupt you two love birds, but we have to find Sam _now_," Ramiel interjected. "Or there won't be anything left to find."

"What do you mean?" Castiel asked quietly, turning his gaze back to Ramiel.

"Well look who's out of the loop," Ramiel smirked. His grin faded when Castiel didn't respond. "You mean you really don't know?" His eyebrows furrowed in concern. "I figured as much. Look, just because you're an archangel now doesn't mean you run things. Heaven is in chaos."

"Tell me," Castiel said, voice firmer.

"It's the reason I fell," Ramiel said, tone suddenly grave. "I defied an order."

"_What order?_" Castiel asked, voice strained. Dean could hear the barely constrained frustration. It was good to know at least Castiel was still feeling emotions…somehow.

"I was ordered to kill the Winchesters."


	6. Chapter 5 and a half

**A/N: Really short chapter for now—I mean like, mega-short. I'll even call it half a chapter. Heh. I'll probably write more later though, but I don't have time right now. Anyway, thanks for the feedback. I've got all your questions in mind and intend on answering them in the most appropriate ways possible—gradually, not all at once. So yep! Enjoy the tiny chapter.**

Adrenaline pumped through Sam's veins, sweat dripping down his face. There were four of them—who were they? Angels? Demons? Either way, this wasn't going to end well for him.

He was too out of practice to pull his "demon crap", and to be honest, he didn't know if he even had the ability to do so anymore. _Stupid_. He should've known this would happen. It was bound to happen. You can't just walk out of hell unscathed.

Which begged the question of how he got out of hell in the first place. He still wasn't sure. Hell was a mess of horrid, blurred but vivid memories from inside a chained mind. He remembered the powerlessness he felt every single day and then…nothing. He remembered waking up in a ditch on the side of the road. No handprints. Nothing.

A sudden movement brought him back to the present. The men were now walking toward him. "Who are you?" he asked, backing discreetly toward his motorcycle, clenching the knife tight in his pocket.

"Samuel, please," one of them said snidely. "You think you can just walk away from all this? You had to know we wouldn't let you."

That didn't give him an answer. Sam put his hand on the seat of the bike, getting ready to pounce on it and get the hell away from there. Before he could do anything, an arm gripped him from around his neck, pulling him backwards. "I don't think so," the voice came from behind him. Sam struggled against the hold of his captor, watching as the other three closed in on him….

And then he was free. There was a sudden flash of light, and all the commotion was completely gone. Sam looked around for the source of it, for the one who saved him.

He spun around, stumbling a bit, and squinted in the dim streetlight. A man stood about ten feet away near a wall, hand dripping with blood. He looked oddly familiar, even in the shadows….

"_Dean?"_


	7. Chapter 6

**A/N: Like I promised, another chapter. Hope you're all enjoying.**

**Oh, and incase any of you are interested, I drew Dean and Ramiel meeting for the first time. It's not exactly how it happened, but I had some fun with it. You can find it at DeviantArt under the profile "musicalirony". It's entitled "Dean meets Ramiel".  
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"Sarah."

Sarah Mills quietly looked around her room for the source of the voice that had called to her. But in the darkness, there was nothing. A small frown appeared on her face, golden eyes wide and searching.

"Over here," whispered the soft voice. Sarah's eyes flickered to her left, where a man stood. He wore a pinstriped suit and had brown hair that stuck out everywhere, in an oddly charming way. Something about him looked childish, but he also had an air of wisdom. "You're dreaming," he explained as the young girl opened her mouth to speak.

"This isn't real?" she asked, innocent eyes fixed on him.

The man smiled warmly. "My name is Forfax. I was sent by my friend, Azrael."

Sarah smiled uncertainly. "Why?"

"Oh, just to talk," Forfax assured her kindly. He sat down on her bedside and looked at her calmly. "I know you've heard some things."

Sarah smiled cheerily. "I've been listening."

"Yeah?" Forfax smiled back at her. "Do you remember what you heard?"

Sarah nodded and squeezed her eyes shut, nose crinkling. "_He has fallen. He who has fallen will become Guardian, Protector, Sentinel…."_ Sarah paused and opened her eyes. She frowned. "That's all I remember."

Forfax smiled warmly again and took her hand. "That's great. Don't worry." He stood up and stroked her hair.

"Where are you going?" Sarah asked, eyes shimmering in the moonlight that cut through her bedroom window.

The angel tapped her nose. "I'll be watching you."

With a gust of wind, he was gone.

• • •

Sam Winchester stood roughly ten feet away from his brother, unable to speak any more than his name. The silence was louder than anything he had ever heard.

Dean stepped forward and walked slowly toward Sam, gait unsteady. Holding his bleeding palm with his other hand, he stumbled forward. Sam merely stood there, eyes wide, unsure of what to say.

It really was Dean. Of course the man would come at exactly the right moment to save him. But now that moment was over and it had left a rush of emotions in its wake. Sam wanted to do so many things. He wanted to apologize. He wanted to hug him to his chest, just to make sure he it was real. He wanted to scold his brother for being reckless and for not being with Lisa. Why was he here, anyway?

Sam looked around, and suddenly appeared two men, similar in appearance. One, he recognized immediately as Castiel. The familiar angel looked much healthier than before, grace having been restored. The other man, or angel—he wasn't quite sure which—was taller and lankier than Castiel, but also somehow seemed more muscular. Of course, he couldn't deny the uncanny resemblance between the two, what with the hair and eyes.

"Sam." His attention flickered back to Dean, who was standing only a few feet away.

The brothers stared at each other. The silence that ensued seemed to confer everything, all words left unspoken.

Sam pulled Dean into a tight embrace, and for one moment, nothing else in the world mattered but Dean.

But of course, time went on, with or without the Winchesters.

"Sam," Dean nodded, pulling back and looking at the ground, voice tight. He looked back up after a moment, eyes red. "'S good to see you."

"You too," Sam nodded guiltily, giving him a half smile.

"Sam, Sam, Sam," a voice came from behind the brothers. "Long time, no see."

Sam directed his attention to the stranger standing next to Castiel. "Who are you?"

The man looked at Castiel, a sly grin slowly stretching upon his face. He turned his gaze back to Sam and spoke clearly, eyebrows raised in amusement.

"I'm the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition."

* * *

**A/N: Fun fact~ the play-by I had in mind for Forfax is actually David Tennant (I dunno if any of you caught that, but if you did, hooray for you!)**


	8. Chapter 7

**A/N: Thanks for the kind reviews, guys. Here's another chapter as a reward. Hope this one makes sense. I had a little fun with it, especially with my David Tennant-esque character.**

"So the cat's out of the bag," Dean said offhandedly, absently rubbing his knuckles. The four men—or three men and an angel—were now huddled near the back of the building, streetlight barely illuminating each of their faces. "You raised Sammy, eh?"

"Sounds about right," Ramiel said, nodding. He turned to Sam, peering at him in the orange light. "You're welcome."

Sam furrowed his eyebrows, perplexed. "But…I don't have a scar or anything. How is that possible?"

At this, Ramiel's mouth stretched into a wide grin. Castiel fidgeted with his trench coat, looking at the ground. "Yeah, Cassie here was still an amateur when he pulled that little stunt," Ramiel explained. Dean rolled his shoulders automatically, frowning. Ramiel slapped Castiel on the back lightly. "Hey, it's alright little bro. No real harm done." At this, Dean shot Ramiel a look.

As Sam looked at Ramiel, he noticed the thick stain of blood down Ramiel's nose, mouth, and neck. Now that he was closer he could see the shabby appearance of the man. "I take it you're not…in the business anymore?"

"Me? Nah. I got out of there while I still could…no offense, bro," Ramiel added, offering Castiel an apologetic smile.

Castiel sighed lowly, obviously annoyed by the slow speed of the conversation. "Who gave you the order to kill the Winchesters?"

Ramiel frowned. "Yeah, I wish I knew," he said. "But you know with all the Heavenly hierarchy bullshit…it was just a messenger that told me. I don't know who made the actual order," he admitted with a shrug. "I may or may not have refused the order before asking who it was from." He rubbed the back of his neck, voice quieter and faster. "Yeah, in hindsight that probably wasn't the best idea…."

"Who told you?" Castiel pressed.

Sam and Dean exchanged looks. Dean motioned to Castiel discreetly with his thumb. "He's an archangel now," he whispered. Sam raised his eyebrows in surprise and nodded in understandment.

Ramiel's lips curled into a smile. "That little twit…what's his name…Azrael. Azrael told me."

Castiel nodded. "I know where we can find him."

• • •

Dean, Sam, and Ramiel all appeared at the same time.

"Ah," Dean groaned, rubbing his forehead. He still had never quite gotten used to angel transport. And Sam, who was leaning against a wall and rubbing his temples, hadn't gotten used to it either.

Ramiel, on the other hand, looked worse than the two brothers combined. He was on the ground, blood spurting from his nose again. "I'm getting too old for this," he commented quietly with a half-grin, attempting to stop the bleeding from his nose but only succeeding in getting blood all over his palms.

Dean walked toward Ramiel and offered him a hand. Ramiel took it and Dean pulled him up, taking nearly all of his weight. Of course by now, Sam had sauntered over and was helping support the man as well. The brothers stood quietly in the dark room, arms around a fallen angel.

"Where are we?" Dean asked, peering around. His eyes had begun to adjust to the vast darkness, and he could make out the shapes of surrounding furniture.

"Sarah Mills' bedroom," a voice came from behind Dean, who had jumped, startled.

"Dammit, Cas," he said automatically, unable to stop himself. It was just like old times—or at least it felt like it until Dean let himself remember how much times had changed.

"Why are we in a little girl's bedroom?" Sam whispered, eyes fixed on the sleeping girl in the bed nearby.

Castiel closed his eyes for a moment, silent. "This is where I sent Azrael." He opened his eyes, unsatisfied. "But he didn't come here. He sent a different angel…."

"Ok, ok, I'm over here," came a new, energetic voice. "Sorry, I didn't know it was you…I mean I did but I didn't exactly want to get in a row with an archangel now did I?" A man stepped toward them, a guilty smile visible on his face, even in the dark.

"Forfax?" Ramiel grunted, opening his eyes hazily.

The angel's eyes grew wide. "Ramiel?" He stepped closer—almost too close—and peered into Ramiel's bloody face. "Blimey, it _is_ you! Bloody hell, what'd you go and get yourself into now?"

"The hell is going on here?" Dean asked gruffly.

Forfax looked from Sam to Dean. "Terribly rude of me, sorry about that, mate. Forfax, angel of astronomy. And liberal arts. But that's not important. _Well_, it is. _Well,_ it's not that important. _Well,_ it depends on exactly what you want to do in your life, I suppose…."

"Angel of astronomy?" Dean asked, amused.

Forfax nodded. "Ramiel here's the angel of Hope. And Thunder. I think…." He continued to mutter a long, steady stream of unintelligible thoughts.

"Hope? Really?" Dean asked, nudging Ramiel lightly.

Ramiel grunted, that same smirk settling on his face despite his fatigue. "You think that's funny, just ask Castiel what he's angel of. Go ahead and tell 'em, Cassie."

Castiel was silent.

Forfax, however, was not. "Thursday. He's the angel of Thursday."

Dean and Sam broke into laughter, and Ramiel joined them. "Told ya," he grinned, standing up a bit straighter, though Dean and Sam both continued to support most of his weight.

Castiel's face was red, even in the dark. "Forfax," he said, addressing the lively angel. At the sound of his name, Forfax stopped fidgeting and stood straight, looking at Castiel. "Azrael sent you here?"

Forfax raised his eyebrows. "Yeah, er, said he had 'more important things to do'."

Castiel's jaw tightened. He turned to Ramiel and the boys. "I sent Azrael here and he sent Forfax in his place."

Sam shifted his and Ramiel's weight onto his other leg, thinking. "What does that mean?"

Castiel took a breath. "He's taking orders from someone else."


	9. Chapter 7 and a half

**A/N: Another short chapter. Sorry, the weekend distracted me, heh.**

"So what do we do now?" Dean asked, clearly irritated by the lack of any structural plan. He hardly had an inkling of what was going on, anyway. Something about Heaven being in chaos and rebel angels….

Supposedly, angels were out to kill both him and Sam. He knew that much, at least. Then there was Ramiel, the beaten, battered, shell of a fallen angel whom he was currently supporting on one side, Sam on Ramiel's other. The stress of the situation at hand was beginning to overwhelm him.

He had to deal with Sam, who was raised from hell by Ramiel only to _not_ contact his only brother in any way? What the hell was that? The joy of having him back was now turning into a white-hot anger, anger he felt from being neglected. Speaking of neglected, he could hardly contain his anger at Castiel any longer. The angel—no, _archangel_—had completely abandoned him and now what? Everything was back to normal? No, he wouldn't have it. He deserved some sort of justice, didn't he?

And then there was Lisa. He'd been gone for more than enough time for her to notice. He hadn't called her or anything. Part of him wanted to return to his "apple pie" life. It had been so simple—or at least he had tried to make it seem that way. Whereas before he was filled with sickening sorrow and loneliness, he was now overcome by a building anger. The anger he felt from injustice.

His thoughts were interrupted when Ramiel seemed to sag a bit more onto Dean's shoulder. Dean struggled to lift the man up—Ramiel was definitely taller than him, perhaps as tall as Sam. "Yeah, fearless leader, what do we do now?" Ramiel echoed Dean's question as he tilted his head toward Castiel.

Castiel stood silently, and Dean wanted to slug him square in the jaw. Ramiel was the only thing holding him back. After a moment, Castiel looked at the three men. "_We_ do nothing. I will put a protective guard on both of you. Forfax," he turned to the jittery angel who was milling about the room, curiously inspecting random objects. "You will be a part of that guard to ensure its allegiance. Gather the others."

Forfax nodded and stood up straight. "Yessir," he said quickly. Dean blinked and the sprightly angel was gone.

"As for the betrayals in Heaven," Castiel said slowly, "those are my problems to deal with." He stepped closer to the three men, reaching to touch them.

"Whoa, hold on," Dean said, voice rising. The child in the bed stirred slightly, and he lowered his voice to a harsh whisper. "You're just gonna send us back—just like that—and expect for us to be the Brady Bunch or something?"

"I don't understand—"

Dean cut him off. "I don't give a fuck whether you understand or not! What am I supposed to do? _What am I supposed to do?_ You dump all this on me and expect me to be ok with it? Well, I'm not, ok? I'm not."

Castiel stared at him, and Dean could see the sadness in his eyes. For a split-second, his anger turned into regret. In the next second, he was back on Lisa's doorstep, still supporting Ramiel with the help of Sam.


	10. Chapter 8

**A/N: Thanks for the reviews, guys! I really enjoy hearing your feedback. I've been trying to find time between schoolwork to write more. Anyway, enjoy!**

Dean blinked. He was in shock. Was this really happening?

A new wave of anger surged through him. "So that's it then?" he yelled, face skyward. "_You just gonna leave me here with a friggin' fallen angel on my front porch, you douchebag?"_

He clenched his jaw tighter and hoisted Ramiel up further onto his shoulder, who had begun to sag. Sam did the same, and the two—without so much as speaking a word—entered the house. After carefully setting the now-unconscious Ramiel on Lisa's couch, the brothers slowly met each other's gaze.

Dean didn't know what to say. He didn't have anything to say at this point.

Sam opened his mouth to say something, face full of guilt and apology. But before he could get a word out, Lisa rushed into the room. "Dean," she said in relief, pulling him into a hug.

Dean hardly responded, but did the best he could to reciprocate. Lisa noticed and pulled back, searching his eyes. "What's…." she began, but her gaze shifted to Sam, who was standing awkwardly behind Dean. "…Sam?"

"Hey Lisa," Sam said, rubbing the back of his neck.

"I thought…" she looked from Sam, back to Dean, confused.

"I know," Dean said quietly, voice tense. "I thought so too." He cleared his throat and stood up straighter. "But apparently I was wrong."

"Dean," Sam began again, tone once again apologetic.

"Dean," Lisa interrupted, eyes wide. "Who's on our couch?"

Dean shifted awkwardly, trying to attempt to cut her off as she walked over to Ramiel. "That's…Ramiel," Dean said. "Castiel's brother."

"Castiel…the angel?" Lisa asked, eyes trained on Ramiel.

"You told her?" Sam asked, obviously insulted by this new piece of information.

Dean clenched his jaw again. "Yeah, well I didn't exactly have someone to talk to about this stuff while you were prancing around doing whatever the hell you were doing," he snapped.

"_I wasn't 'prancing around'_," Sam said defensively, eyebrows furrowing.

"Yeah, well _obviously_ you were doing something without access to a phone." At this, Dean crossed his arms, having backed Sam into a corner—figuratively, speaking.

"Boys," Lisa cut in sharply, "we can settle this later. Right now we have to help _him_," she continued, pointing at Ramiel, who had a trail of blood dripping from his nose and mouth yet again.

Dean gave Sam one last glare and turned to Ramiel and Lisa. Without turning around, he shouted to Sam. "Help me get him into the guest room."

Sam, haughty and silent, bent over and lifted Ramiel along with Dean, towing him to the bedroom. After Ramiel was taken care of, Lisa at his side, the brothers remained back in the living room with nothing to say.

• • •

Castiel stared into the distance for a long time.

He knew he owed Dean an apology—that's what humans did, right? And although he wasn't human anymore, he felt he still shared some commonalities with the species, guilt being one of them. He couldn't shake the feeling of guilt…and remorse.

Of course he felt horrible for abandoning Dean. But Dean couldn't see what he saw. And what he saw was what was best—for both of them. It was best for Castiel to remain in Heaven and do his assigned job. And archangel wasn't a bad title, either. On the other hand, it was best for Dean to live his "apple pie" life in peace, without the disturbance of angels—or anything supernatural, for that matter.

That's why Castiel had worked so hard to make the angels leave the Winchesters alone, save the means used to protect them from harm. As long as he kept them alive, he felt what he was doing for them was good—good for both of them. And Sam…well, deciding not to contact Dean was his own choice. Whether admirable or unfavorable, that was not up to Castiel to judge.

Now he came to the real question. The question he had to resolve immediately, lest all his good work be compromised. Who was ordering the angels to kill the Winchesters? Obviously Heaven was in chaos, so it wasn't hard to comprehend that there would be disobedience on some level. But direct orders against an archangel's? That was big. And the other angels were obeying, which meant the one giving the orders had to be powerful, or feared in some way.

Still, Castiel had no idea who to look for, or where to start. It had been much easier when he had help…when he had _friends_. Sitting alone in the park wasn't nearly as nice as it used to be.

• • •

"You could've called."

The room had been silent for hours, the brothers merely sitting there, saying nothing. Lisa was in the other room, keeping watch over Ramiel after putting Ben to bed. It was late at night now, but neither one of the brothers had even considered sleeping. They were both too wired with emotion. Finally, Dean had been the one to break the silence.

"Dean, look man, I'm sorry," Sam breathed.

"Save it," Dean responded quietly. "It doesn't matter anymore."

Sam squinted at him in the dim light. Leaning forward, he shifted his elbows to rest on his knees. "I just…when I got out of Hell I came here first. But I saw you through that window and… I saw how happy you were. How…_normal_." Sam sighed. "I didn't want to be the one that messed up your life again."

Dean was silent for a while, and Sam wondered if he'd fallen asleep. Looking up, he saw Dean's eyes glistening. Dean sniffed, taking in a deep breath.

"Sammy, I was in pain," he said lowly, voice almost a whisper. "Knowing you were gone…forever…it hurt. Man, I searched through every book and every scrap of information to get you out but…. I couldn't do a damned thing."

Now it was Sam's turn to be silent. A few minutes passed, feeling like hours. "Dean, I didn't know…."

"I know you didn't," Dean cut him off. "I understand. The past is the past, man. What're you gonna do?" He tried to say the words casually, but they couldn't mask the pain in his voice.

Sam nodded, lowering his eyes. "Yeah," he muttered in agreement, although he wasn't quite sure either of them would be able to let it go that easily. They both had a lot of problems of their own to resolve, now that a new chapter of their lives had started.

Suddenly, a gust of air lifted Sam's hair. Dean apparently had heard it too, as he had sat up straight and was looking around. Sam furrowed his eyebrows and turned around, searching the dark for some monster that was surely coming to kill them….

"_Deeeeean!"_ He heard a familiar voice from behind him, drawing out the vowels of Dean's name comically. "Long time no see."


	11. Chapter 9

Dean turned to the darkness, toward the sound of the voice. He knew that voice, that comically grating voice that made him want to take out his gun and shoot. He squinted as the dark shadowy figure became more visible.

"Gabriel?"

It was impossible. Gabriel had been killed—killed by Lucifer, of all people. Then again, Castiel had been killed too and yet there he was in Heaven, an archangel. Dean had learned to stop questioning impossible things. Apparently Sam hadn't.

"How are you alive?" Sam cut in, furrowing his eyebrows.

Gabriel closed his eyes and shrugged, a smile playing at his lips. "Don't take the mystery out of it, Sam," he said casually, eyes darting sharply from Dean to Sam. "Here's a question—how are _you_ alive?" The quirky angel squinted up at Sam inquisitively, a faint smirk settling on his lips.

"An angel pulled me out," Sam said, voice strained and slightly heated. Dean took a step toward the pair, uncomfortably. He hadn't always been on the best terms with Gabriel. The archangel seemed to do whatever he pleased without so much as considering the repercussions. However, he'd certainly gone out with a bang, and had appeared to be on their side.

"Ah, dear old Cas," Gabriel said fondly in reply. "He's always had a soft spot for you two."

"It wasn't Cas," Dean interjected.

Gabriel's smile faded, and he arched a brow. "Who?"

"Ramiel," Dean said. Gabriel's expression changed, instantly becoming one of sincere gravity. Dean didn't even have to ask, but he did anyway. "You know him?"

Gabriel stared at Dean for a moment, narrowing his eyes in thought. "We go way back," he said, snapping back to his usual tone. "How _is_ the kid, anyway?"

"Not good," Sam answered harshly. "No thanks to your dick brothers."

"Hey, whoa there, Sammy boy," Gabriel said, taking a step back. "Let's not go that far. They're not too keen on calling me a brother anymore—not since that last stunt I pulled." He glanced down, and for a moment Dean could see right through him. He saw something that he'd felt all too often himself—_loneliness_. Gabriel had been abandoned by his family, just as Dean had.

"Do you still have your mojo?" Dean asked suddenly.

Gabriel grinned. "You like that video I left you?"

Dean made a face and shook his head slightly. "Ramiel's in the other room. You could heal him. He's…." Dean considered how to word the truth, but shrugged. "Well, he's human."

Gabriel squinted and tilted his head forward, as if he hadn't heard Dean right. "Human?"

"Yeah, human. And he's going to die if you don't help him," Sam said tightly. Dean glanced at Sam, slightly thrown off by his brother's harshness.

"Well, what are we waiting for?" Gabriel asked, raising his eyebrows.

• • •

"Hey, kiddo," Gabriel said fondly. Dean could hear a twinge of sadness in the archangel's voice as he looked down at his brother. Ramiel was hardly conscious, having been aroused when the three men lumbered into the room. Lisa was sitting beside the bed with a washcloth, dabbing at Ramiel's face.

Ramiel tried to focus on Gabriel's face, barely giving him a smile. "Long time, no see," he mumbled. Dean winced visibly. Ramiel was now sheet-white and drenched in cold sweat.

"Well are you going to just lay there, or are you going to get up and give your brother a hug?" Gabriel asked, a grin on his face. Dean exchanged looks with an incredulous-looking Sam. But before Ramiel could respond, Gabriel's hand was on his forehead. After a blast of bright light, Ramiel was hopping out of bed and tackling Gabriel into a hug.

Gabriel laughed and slapped Ramiel on the back.

Dean and Sam exchanged looks again, both of them completely taken off-guard by the brothers' reactions to each other. Dean gave an uncertain smile to Lisa. Lisa's eyes were wide, but she seemed relieved enough, having set the washcloth down.

"You're not gonna go disappearing on me again now, are you?" Ramiel asked, pulling back. He ran a hand through his messy black hair and looked at Gabriel.

"Nah, those days are over. I'm open to anyone who'll have me," Gabriel said with a questionable grin. "In more ways than one," he added.

Ramiel snorted with laughter. "It's good to see you, bro."

Gabriel nodded. "Looks like humanity's already taken a dump on you, my friend." He sighed. "Who'd you piss off this time?"

Ramiel shrugged. "Said no to a couple of douchebags who told me to kill the Winchesters." He glanced at Sam and Dean, who were standing there awkwardly, trying to understand the dynamic of the conversation. "I couldn't do it. I mean, look at them. They're pathetic enough."

"Hey," Dean said defensively.

Gabriel was quiet, for once. After a few moments of silence, he spoke carefully. "Someone ordered you to kill the Winchesters?"

"Yeah, and Castiel was furious. He's trying conduct some sort of 'investigation'," Ramiel rolled his eyes. "Anyway, I think we should go see what he's up to." He elbowed the archangel, who snickered in return.

"Let's hope he's not in Heaven," Gabriel said. "I don't think Heaven has the hots for us anymore." In the next second, the men and angels were gone.

"Dean," Lisa sighed in the empty room. "You are _so_ in the doghouse when you get home."

**A/N: Sorry guys, but I couldn't resist bringing Gabriel back :3 Anyway, I'll try to write more ASAP.**


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